


Worth a Little Kidnapping

by tuesday



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Background Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-01-20 18:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: Peter is kidnapped on purpose, but it does not go according to plan.





	Worth a Little Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



> This is a mash-up of a lot of your likes, but especially "Usually Powerful Character is Helpless Due to Drugs." Hope your h/c is a good one!
> 
> Despite the date the h/c collection is revealed (and as is probably obvious by the 4/20 publish date), this is not Endgame compliant. It presumes everyone will either make it through or be made alive again. If not, please look upon it as a canon divergent future fic. It is canon compliant with IW, though.
> 
> Thank you so much to Duckmoles for your help! You are a star. <3
> 
> Redating for reveals. This was originally posted 4/20, though the collection didn't open until 5/20. Sorry if you managed to see it twice!
> 
> For warnings, please heed the tags. Feel free to ask if you have any questions or special concerns!

Peter had been equipped with several geolocators in his clothes and accessories—in his watch, his belt buckle, and the heels of both shoes. He had another tracking chip implanted in his upper left arm. If, somehow, every single one failed, he was still Spider-Man, even in his everyday Peter Parker guise. No kidnappers should have been able to hold him. He was smart, he was strong, and Tony hadn't let him accept this mission until he was able to make it out of reinforced handcuffs in under sixty seconds without resorting to simply flexing and shattering them. Apparently that was cheating, and he might not want to alert his captors that he was free.

None of that really helped him when the kidnappers took his clothes and he was kept so drugged that he could barely remember his own name, time slipping by without Peter being able to grasp it, every blink bringing with it a new moment, no clue whether it was minutes or hours later.

He came around once to hands in his hair, holding his head up. There was a camera in front of him. A voice droned in his ear. Eventually, they formed words he could understand, repeated for the fifth time: "Tell Mr. Stark hello."

Peter tried to wave, but his arm refused to move. Woozily, he said, "Hey, Mr. Stark. I don't think this is going according to plan." At least, that's what he tried to say. What came out was probably too slurred to be intelligible. The person with the camera seemed satisfied, though.

"How long do we keep him?" someone asked.

"Until he's no longer useful."

Peter knew he should be concerned about that, but the drugs made it kind of hard to care. He felt like he was floating, like he was dreaming, like none of this was real.

—

Back up a bit. Everything started in a much nicer place. Well, no, everything started horribly, with kidnapping and murder. But it wasn't Peter's kidnapping and murder, so for him, it mostly started with Tony Stark saying, "I need you to pretend to be my much too young for me gold digging boyfriend."

"Okay," Peter said.

"It's a hard ask, but—" Tony paused. "Okay?"

Peter shrugged. "You wouldn't ask without a reason. So yeah. Okay. I'll do it."

"Just like that?" Tony asked.

"Just like that," Peter agreed.

"Let me finish my speech anyway," Tony said. "It was convincing, charismatic, and also explained what you'll be doing and why it needs to be you."

Peter agreed to that, too.

The kidnappings extended to loved ones of three families of slightly varying backgrounds, but they all had two things in common: they were very, very rich and extremely influential. One family had refused to pay. The patriarch who held the purse strings wasn't much fond of his daughter's fiance. The kidnappers did him the favor of disposing of the guy. What they hadn't counted on was that said guy? Was the favorite nephew of a senator who was calling in every favor he could to see justice done one way or another.

"They're going to try again with someone else," Tony said. "And we're going to give them a tempting new target."

Peter had thought it was kind of a long shot that they'd pick him. Peter was wrong. Very, very wrong.

—

"This is so stupid. I still don't know that we got all the trackers."

"It's hard to believe Stark would only fit his boy with one," a second voice agreed.

"The EMP should have gotten anything we missed," a third voice spoke dismissively. "We're fine. Iron Man's not going to be making an appearance any time soon."

Peter wondered why the kidnappers would discuss this right in front of him, drugged or no. It took him a while to realize the room he was in was empty. They were distracted. They were on the other side of the building. This would probably be a good time to escape, to call in backup. Unfortunately, Peter couldn't so much as twitch his fingers.

—

Dating Tony was maybe worth a little kidnapping. Maybe it definitely was? Peter couldn't be sure, had only gotten to see the false front Tony put up for everyone else's benefit.

It involved nice restaurants, walks in the park, and other public places where Tony would hold Peter's hand, put an arm around his waist, nuzzle gently at the side of his neck, and otherwise do all the things Peter would love to actually get to experience for real. All he'd gotten to see what it was like when Tony was determined to prove that he'd willingly hand over a significant part of his fortune to anyone holding Peter hostage.

On one date they'd gone to a cafe for espresso despite Tony having high quality machines and grounds stashed in practically every room of his penthouse. Tony had laced their fingers together on the table, where anyone could see him running his thumb up and down the same inch of skin on the side of Peter's hand. Peter could barely smell anything over the heavy scent of coffee beans and fresh baked bread, but every time Tony leaned in, Peter caught traces of his cologne, something spicy and sweet, applied hours before and barely lingering against his skin. When they left, Tony had let Peter plant his face in Tony's neck and chase the fading scent. He'd put his hand in Peter's hair and scratched short nails against Peter's scalp, traced gentle circles there.

It was a nice memory. Peter was floating, still, but he was also chasing memories like dreams, distant, ephemeral, just out of reach. Part of him could only live in the moment, but part of him kept running down the past, thoughts flitting ahead of him, urging him on.

"Think your boyfriend will pay for you?" the man adjusting the drip of Peter's IV asked him.

Unable to guard his mouth, Peter said, "I think he'll make you pay."

The man didn't like that answer very much.

—

"I'm concerned about the dosage," someone said.

"Me, too. He's far too lucid whenever we drop it."

"Stark's not going to pay for a dead body."

"Do you want him to fight back like the last one?"

Peter stared at the ceiling. There was a crack in it and a spreading water stain. There was something he should be doing. Something important. He asked, "Do you think Tony will be mad I missed our date?"

A masked figure bent over the mattress Peter was sprawled across, his face a dark blue blur. "He's not that lucid."

—

There was one date that stood out there at the end.

They were at the Maria Stark Foundation's annual benefit for the Firefighters' Family Fund, having flown to California for it. They were standing on the balcony of the Disney Concert Hall, and Tony said something about Pepper, about how he'd come so close to starting a relationship right there long before their first try, except he'd gotten distracted—he'd always gotten distracted, something more immediate always coming up, and it was never, ever going to stop. Even when he promised that he'd do better, that he'd reprioritize, the truth was he just couldn't quit. It wasn't fair to Pepper and it wouldn't be fair to anyone else, either. No one was ever going to be able to compete with Iron Man. Anyone he dated would have to be okay with always being second best.

Peter reached up, out there in the cool night air leaching the warmth from his overheated face, and pulled Tony down and in. He said the words, "Me, too," against Tony's mouth. "Me, too."

Tony's hands were warm wrapped around Peter's wrists. His shirt was soft, smooth under Peter's clenched fingers. He tasted like top shelf whiskey. His tongue was like velvet sliding against Peter's bottom lip. The sound Tony made was pained, but he didn't stop, just licked his way in.

After a while, someone else came out, and they broke apart. Peter's hands had migrated under Tony's jacket. Tony's had been in the process of absolutely wrecking Peter's hair. Tony cleared his throat and patted Peter's hair down. Peter smoothed the wrinkles he'd made in Tony's shirt.

They didn't talk about it. They went back inside. Behind them, out on the balcony, the person who'd interrupted them lit a cigarette, the cherry red glow through the glass catching Peter's attention off and on for the next several minutes along with the bitten red of Tony's lips whenever Peter let himself look. Both faded eventually, but the memory remained.

—

"I'd rather not kill you, too," a man said as he messed with the drip. "Not unless we have to."

Peter came to the fuzzy, distant conclusion that he was changing Peter's dosage again. That was … a good thing? Maybe?

"How did I ever let myself get caught up in this?"

Peter tried to say something comforting, but his body wasn't working right, tongue tangled up in his mouth. He settled for an encouraging hum.

"No one was ever meant to get hurt." A hand patted Peter on his shoulder. "You'll be okay. He'll pay. He's got _so much_ money. No way he leaves you to twist in the wind." More confidently, "And the other guy, he shouldn't have fought. Maybe if he hadn't been so—" The dark blue blur shook its head. "It's not my fault. It was on him. You get that, right?"

Peter gave a hesitant nod.

"It's not my fault, and you're going to be just fine."

Hesitantly, Peter twitched his fingers. Yes. He was going to be just fine.

—

That last date—

It wasn't real. Tony reminded Peter of that after they kissed in front of the car set to take Peter home. It didn't mean anything when Tony's mouth opened sweetly against Peter's, when his lips parted in invitation, encouraging against Peter's own. It didn't mean anything when Tony curled his fingers in Peter's hair, keeping him in place. It meant nothing at all when Tony picked up Peter's hand after to press a gentle, closed mouth kiss to the palm.

It wasn't real and it didn't mean anything. Not unless Peter said he wanted it to.

Peter had really, really wanted it to.

—

Peter didn't so much come back to himself as things became a little clearer. He became a little more aware of how truly fucked he was. He was lying on a dirty mattress. His wrists were shackled together, and the shackles were chained into a loop in the wall. Lying down, he had no slack. The heavy metal rings would've ordinarily been no problem for him, but ordinarily he'd have more strength available to him than that of a newborn baby kitten. He had an IV running into the crook of his elbow, keeping him at kitten strength and running at half-speed. There were no windows in the bare room.

A man in a mask sat on a metal folding chair and stared down at Peter. He smelled like old sweat and acrid fear. He had a gun in his hands. He said, "I don't want to kill you."

"So don't," Peter said.

"It's a little late for that."

It was like, with every blink of the eye, the room shifted, and Peter shifted with it, back in his memories and then forward in time. The man in the blue mask was standing over him now. He was pointing the gun. His hands were shaking.

—

"Go out with me," Tony said, begged. "On a real date."

Tony's hands were shaking. He pressed another kiss to Peter's palm.

"Okay," Peter said softly.

"Okay?" Tony confirmed.

"There's no world in which I say no to this, to you. I'd love to go on a real date with you."

Tony pressed his next kiss to Peter's mouth, and it was everything Peter had ever wanted.

—

There was … a sound. A very familiar sound. The whine of repulsors prepared to fire.

 _Oh_ , Peter thought. _He came_.

"I'll do it. I'll shoot him."

"I don't think you understand your options here. They don't include getting away with a hostage. He's chained to that wall. No, your options are you submit to lawful arrest and are passed into the safety of police custody," Tony had both hands up, repulsors glowing, "or you leave this room in a body bag. It's up to you, but you've got three seconds to decide."

"You can't—" the gun moved toward Tony, and in that instant Tony fired. The guy hit the wall with a sharp crack.

Tony tapped his chest, and the armor folded back. He pressed clammy fingers against Peter's neck, right against his pulse.

"'M alive," Peter said.

"On anything that'll cause problems if you go cold turkey?" Tony asked. A hand hovered over the IV.

Peter laughed. It was tinged with hysteria. "No idea. I'm not sure—I'm not entirely sure you're real right now."

"I'm real. I'm here. I've got you." Tony slid out the IV, then formed a gauntlet again and gave a short pulse against the chains. He gathered Peter up in his arms along with the IV bag and lifted him. "Come on, kid. We're getting you out of here. The FBI can do their damn job and clean up when they catch up in a minute or two. We're taking you to a hospital right now."

—

Peter sobered up by degrees. By the time they touched down in front of the ER doors, he thought he could stand on his own. Tony did not appreciate this assessment, nor Peter's failed attempts to do so. Peter ended up on a gurney, then he ended up in a private hospital room. Everything between was kind of a blur.

There was a pinch as someone tried to take his blood, then Tony right there beside him saying, "Shh, shh, it's okay. You're okay," to Peter. To someone else, "I don't know what you expected if that's your usual bedside manner toward kidnapping victims." To Peter again, "Let the nice techs do their jobs. They've all signed NDAs for anything HIPAA doesn't cover and everything it does. They're also well aware that I will _ruin them_ if anything about you gets out."

Peter didn't think it was normal for someone who wasn't family to sit through tests and examinations, but every time he looked over, Tony was there. He asked, "Did I—did I accidentally punch that nurse in the face?"

Tony petted Peter's hair. "He'll be fine. Barely a bruise."

The world was still kind of slippery, unreal. Peter had probably gotten a lot of sleep lately, or at least been unconscious for a lot of it, but he was exhausted from trying to hold on, to swim his way back up into reality. Tony was there. Peter was safe now. He could let go, and Tony would catch him.

So Peter did.

—

The next time Peter woke was a lot better.

Tony was still there, tapping at a tablet resting on the edge of the bed with one hand. The other was folded over Peter's right hand. There was an IV going in to the back of Peter's left, but it was hooked up to a saline drip. Peter felt like he was waking from a deep sleep, not like he couldn't be sure whether he was dreaming. He was tired, but it wasn't the bone deep exhaustion of before. Peter twitched his fingers, and they responded quickly and easily.

Tony looked up. He smiled. "Hey, there, Sleeping Beauty. Get a nice nap in?"

"How long?" Peter asked. His mouth was dry.

Tony's smile disappeared. "Three days. They dug out your tracking chip." He looked down, gaze focused on the tape holding the IV line down against Peter's hand. "Chucked it and your clothes in a dumpster."

"I missed our date."

"Right, because I'm obviously going to hold that against you." Tony picked up a sippy cup of ice water from the bedside table and held it out for Peter. "Here, you've gotta be thirsty. My lips are getting chapped just looking at yours."

Peter leaned forward the half inch necessary and took the straw in his mouth. The first sip of water was bliss flooding his mouth. It felt like a third of it absorbed before it hit the back of his throat. Peter maybe gave a small, undignified moan. Tony didn't seem seem like he minded, his eyes dark and focused on Peter's lips wrapped around the plastic. Peter drained half the glass before he made himself stop.

"So, um. How did you find me?" he asked.

"They had to contact me for the ransom." Tony smiled mirthlessly as he put the water back down. "FRIDAY tracked them from there." He put his hand over Peter's again. "Look, Peter, I'm—I'm so sorry."

Peter wondered if he was still maybe a little drugged. "For what?"

"You never would have been kidnapped if I hadn't dragged you into this."

"But someone else would have been."

Tony pressed his lips together in a thin line. "But it wouldn't have been you."

"Yeah. Good thing I agreed." Tony didn't look amused. That was fine. Peter's voice may have been light, but he was absolutely serious. "I volunteered for this. Admittedly, I didn't know they were going to drug me, but all's well that ends well, right?"

"Sure." Tony's voice was flat. "Happy endings all around."

Peter tugged his hand free only to touch Tony's jaw. "I'm fine."

Tony looked away. "You're fine." It didn't sound like agreement. Tony pulled away. "Look, I—I'll be right back, okay?"

He didn't wait for Peter to answer, just got up and walked away. Peter watched him leave the room, closing the door behind him, then listened to him walk down the hallway, tracking his footsteps as he opened another door. Peter strained to filter out the extraneous noise, and he knew he was feeling better, because otherwise he never would've been able to tell that was Tony turning on the tap, never would have connected the splashing water with Tony wetting his face, never realized that choked sound was Tony starting to cry.

Peter certainly never would have been able to unhook himself from the monitors, grab the IV pole, and, feeling incredibly awkward in his open-backed gown, shuffle his way down the hall to the single occupant public restroom and let himself inside, because Tony had forgotten to lock it. Tony looked up, startled, and Peter didn't hesitate, threw himself straight into Tony's arms. Tony stood there stiffly for the first few seconds. Slowly, gingerly, Tony closed his arms around Peter. Tony's face was damp when he pressed it into Peter's neck. He was trembling. He kept making these awful little noises, like he was trying to strangle every sob in his throat before it could escape. His breathing was hitched and uneven.

"I lost you again," Tony said. "I lost you."

"You always get me back," Peter said.

Tony tried to push away, but Peter held firm. "You shouldn't—you shouldn't have to—" Tony shuddered. "You were the one who was kidnapped and held captive for three days."

"It was like a surprise vacation." Peter squeezed gently.

"Drugs, a bed, endless napping: what more could you ask for, right?" Tony's voice was thick.

"Exactly." Peter smoothed a hand down Tony's back. "Four stars, no question."

They stood there in the tiny hospital bathroom for several minutes more as Tony got himself under control. When he tried to pull away again, Peter let him go. Tony wiped at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—sorry."

"You can make it up to me by being there when I have my own inevitable freak out later tonight." Peter's smile was small, probably fit weird on his face. "Can I—do I have to stay here? I'm—I feel fine. I want to go home."

"Whatever you want."

Tony took Peter home, to the apartment Peter had moved into when they'd decided to make Peter a kidnapping target. When Peter asked, Tony even stayed.

—

Their weeks of dates had been fake. Tony didn't have sleeping clothes at Peter's. Instead, he stripped to his boxer-briefs and slid under the covers. Peter felt a little like a pervert staring covertly at Tony's bare chest, the raised circular scar tissue and the dots and jagged dashes extending from it. Tony raised his eyebrows and leaned back, letting the covers pool around his waist.

"You're allowed to look."

Peter felt his cheeks warm. "Can, um."

Tony grinned. "You can touch, too."

Peter was actually going to ask Tony to close his eyes while he changed into pajama bottoms. He was feeling a little shy—though not so much that he was interested in letting the opportunity pass him by, stripping and crawling into bed to press his hands everywhere that invitation extended. Turned out it was an all access pass.

Tony did some touching, as well, exploring every plane and curve and contour of Peter's body with reverent fingers and light kisses. He licked Peter's thigh and pressed a kiss to the crease where it met his hip. Peter hid his face in his hands, overcome by the image of Tony gently scraping his teeth over the knob of Peter's hipbone. He jerked his hands away when that was followed up by a tongue trailing up the side of his cock. Tony winked at him when he caught Peter's wide-eyed stare, then licked the other side. He left it there, though, crawling back up Peter's body to kiss his mouth some more, sweet, unhurried flicks of his tongue and soft, patient presses of his lips. He nuzzled at Peter's neck and cheek.

For his part, Peter ran his hands over everything in reach, tracing scars and rubbing the pads of both thumbs over Tony's nipples to see how he'd respond. He slid his hands down Tony's well-defined chest to his stomach, spread them over Tony's hips and shamelessly groped his ass. Peter pulled Tony down, rolling their hips together. Tony's eyes went half-lidded. He threaded a hand through Peter's hair and smiled into their next kiss.

"Keep doing that, and this is going to be over soon," Tony murmured against Peter's mouth.

"For you, maybe," Peter said. "Some of us can go again right away."

"Is that an age thing or a superpowers thing?" Tony asked, a note of scientific curiosity mixed in with the lust in his voice.

Peter flipped them, grinding down against Tony. "Bit of both."

"I'd be interested in seeing that."

So Peter showed him.

After, Tony folded his arms around Peter and slid a hand through Peter's hair again, again, again, palm petting and short nails scratching lightly. Between that and Tony's steady, even breaths, the heart beating under Peter's cheek in makeshift lullaby, Peter was able to fall asleep.

—

He woke up unable to breathe.

It was dark. Tony's arm was draped across Peter's chest. It felt like there was a band pressing down, constricting his rib cage. Peter forced himself to take a breath, to hold it for five seconds, then to release it. The ceiling was white. There were no cracks in it. The bed under him was soft. There was no metal around his wrists or IV going into his arm. Tony was _right there_ beside him.

He was also waking up, the soft, relaxed lines of sleep sliding off his face to be replaced by deeper ones of concern. "Peter?"

Peter let himself clutch at Tony's arm. He was rewarded with Tony curling closer, with a kiss pressed to his temple.

"You're okay," Tony said. He ran a hand through Peter's hair. "You're in your apartment. It's Monday night—or maybe Tuesday morning by now. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Peter rolled over, into Tony, pressing his face into Tony's neck. Tony kissed the top of his head.

"I've got you." Tony put his arms around Peter. "You're okay. It's okay."

"It's funny," Peter said, though he wasn't laughing.

"What's that?" Tony asked softly.

"When this happened before," Peter said, and Tony's arms tightened, "it was about Titan. Guess I finally found a way past that."

"Guess so." Tony didn't sound like he thought it was funny, either.

—

Eventually, Peter fell back asleep. When he woke up, the bed was empty. Tony's side was cold. Peter found him in the kitchen, poking smoking eggs with a spatula. Tony looked up.

"You're out of eggs."

"I had a full carton," Peter said.

"Not anymore." Tony turned off the burner, pulled the skillet over the trash can, and dumped the smoking mess he'd made of what was apparently his latest attempt at an omelet breakfast in to join their fallen brethren. "Breakfast in bed is a bust. Let me take you out instead."

Peter padded over to the fridge. "I have frozen waffles."

"Why would you freeze waffles?" Tony asked.

"They come that way." When Peter pulled out the Eggos, Tony looked like he was regretting trashing the eggs. "Blueberry or buttermilk?"

"Those are not blueberries."

Peter put the buttermilk in the toaster and the blueberry waffles back in the freezer. Tony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Peter's waist. He rested his head on Peter's shoulder. Peter sighed and leaned back. Tony pressed a kiss to the side of Peter's neck.

"Let me buy you breakfast," Tony said.

"I have a counteroffer: eat the waffles when they're ready, then come back to bed with me."

Tony nuzzled at Peter's skin. "Yeah, okay."

Peter ate the frozen waffles with dyed corn syrup at his kitchen counter, Tony standing beside him, their elbows brushing together. Tony took a bite of his and then firmly slid the contents of his plate on Peter's.

"You need it more than I do," Tony said before wrapping himself octopus-like around Peter again. He rubbed his beard against the back of Peter's neck as Peter shoved a third of a waffle in his mouth in one go. Tony's hands crept down the front of the pajama bottoms Peter had pulled on before leaving the bedroom. "This afternoon, though. Let me buy you lunch."

"You're really hung up on that missed date, huh?" Peter said.

"That's it exactly." Tony sucked a mark under Peter's ear. "I just," Tony palmed Peter's dick, "really feel bad," and started to stroke, "that I didn't get to take you out."

Peter swallowed his next mouthful of waffle. "And it has nothing to do with the contents of my fridge."

"None whatsoever," Tony confirmed.

Peter had seen the smoothies Tony was willing to drink when he forgot about eating and decided to get all his nutrition at once. Tony had zero room to complain. Peter finished the last waffle, which was delicious, thank you very much.

"Yeah, fine. We'll go out for lunch." Peter curled his toes as Tony pulled more firmly. "But for now, we're going back to bed."

—

They went back to bed. It felt like it could have been a dream, Tony pressing Peter to the mattress. At least, it was a dream come true for Peter, everything he could have wanted as Tony gently kissed him and carefully opened him up.

It was real, Peter's thighs shaking as Tony eased his way in. Peter was only in the present as Tony rested their foreheads together and bottomed out. Peter didn't miss a moment as Tony threaded his right fingers through Peter's left and brought their joined hands up to kiss the back of Peter's wrist.

Quietly, softly, Tony said, "You're perfect, you know that?"

So yeah. Dating Tony was almost certainly worth a little kidnapping.

—

At lunch, Peter thought to ask, "No one told Aunt May I was kidnapped, right?"

"Um." That expression on Tony's face was not encouraging. "In my defense, it was kind of on the news."

"She—she knows you got me back, right?"

"That was … probably also on the news?" Tony said.

Dating Tony was almost certainly worth a little kidnapping, but that didn't mean it was perfect.

—

(Other than the thing with May, Peter wouldn't change a thing.)


End file.
